Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. Obviously it started out as a blog about my cross-dressing but it has developed a great deal since then. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the New Readers' Page above this and the tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Tuesday, 3 September 2013

Not Knocking It

Day three.

This is pretty close actually.
I am wearing my floaty (but not really) blouse with my short denim skirt. Alas, it's been a hot day here and my feet have swollen too large to put in the boots (though the extra warmth they afforded this morning was most welcome) and too sweaty and crappy to risk putting on my wedges. I'd wear tights, but it's too hot. The blouse isn't great, but it's one of only two tops that I own now after I threw the rest out - when I told Tilly I was doing this and she did not believe me. Not my favourite knickers today, gone with a slightly frillier pair that I still own. Now the only two pairs I still have.

I am drinking a beer (nice EPA from Marston's) and reflecting on the days at work so far. I have also gone out and got some fish and chips, thus blowing my food budget for this week and next in a binge, and have failed to do any work in the cottage so far. I have been staying later at work to compensate so I shouldn't complain. I have had two video calls with home, the first hampered by a lack of mike at my end, but they have gone reasonably well. And I've some early nights.

I'd love to look like this.
My new place is not so bad. I am shocked at the lack of organised system for chopping up things that you have had copied and at some of the charges being made for basic printing and the like, but I have had that very good where I was so... Also, there may be some bumps ahead, but the two staff who have been there a while are preparing to move on or retire, no biggie about the school just where they are, and so I suppose I can't expect them to drop everything and change on my whim. They are reasonably enthusiastic about some of the things that I'm asking them directly to do and won't be standing in the way so much as off to one side doing their own thing, which is fine. They are, after all, professionals!

I am enjoying, as much as I can, the time to myself. I have barely worn my boring clothes whilst in the cottage and have made the most of dress up time. Last night I slept for a bit in my chemise as well, which was nice. In the mornings and evenings I make a point not to wear any footwear but my boots and wedges and that is nice too. I can really feel it in my calves mind, they ain't used to this, and I do wonder why any woman would choose to wear heels. I mean, I know why I do it, but I think women have more to deal with on a day by day basis - basically put: I can add a little madness, but women could stand to lose a bit, no? I also took the liberty of stuffing the front of my floaty blouse just now (socks alas) and can see a little more on why people would buy this. Unfortunately I have man arms, so it's a bit short on me. I seem to have developed something of a paunch over summer too - too much driving and eating well, not enough stressing and running about my place of work in a tizz I suspect.

Or this. No, more this.
The main feeling, as I've said before, is liberation. I feel much more like me when I am dressed. Which is an odd thing, but there it is. I feel... free. It's similar to how I feel about bondage but less sexual. In both cases I feel more free and more able to be myself, I feel like a great weight has been lifted and I am able to smile and let go a bit more. In the case of bondage there is an added sexual element, a frisson if you will, that lends a delicious feeling of the forbidden and I confess that I find that difficult to control. It's why I don't do that very often even when I have the chance. Mind you, most of the time on Sunday was spent in collar and handcuffs because I could. This is beside the point. The clothes themselves feel just nice. Like now, with stuffed frontage, it's not about looking like a woman (like I could pass with a beard and my gangly frame) or even about feeling like one (I rather like my male privilege where I can throw on a pair of trousers and leave the house safely or eat whatever the heck I like when I like without having people judge me). I have no real idea what it's about except that the clothes hang better and I like the feeling of it. I can't really describe it, perhaps it cannot be described, I just really like it. I can wear the clothes without stuffing or a bra but it doesn't feel the same and so it doesn't work the same. No, I can't describe it, much less explain it.

Or even this.
It would be like trying to explain the feeling one gets from hearing the choral arrangement backing Quindon Tarver singing When Doves Cry in Baz Luhrmann's Romeo and Juliet without being able to share the song itself. It just can't be done.

I wish I had long hair to fall on my shoulders. I wish I could shave my legs and armpits. I wish I could share this with Tilly.

The images collected here were supposed to illustrate my day but I got rather sidetracked by skirts, as you can probably see. I have no idea why I would like to be able to look like that - it's nothing about being a woman or being turned on, but something about the image is what I am hankering for. It is part of the liberation and the feeling I suppose, for what that's worth.

Oh, Quindon Tarver:

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All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!